


Pyromania

by ArtlessComedic



Series: supersona shit yall [2]
Category: Adventures of Musicboi and Captain Spook, Original Work
Genre: Presumed Dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 09:27:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9541496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtlessComedic/pseuds/ArtlessComedic
Summary: wow what the fuckrip nzpk





	

He was home alone, again. Not that he was surprised at this point, having gotten up many times before only to find the house empty of all but himself and Roxanne, his pet rock. But this time, something was different. He didn’t feel a rush of relief, or the faint pang of disappointment in his heart when he saw the note his mother had left. An important work party, this time. Also unsurprising. His father was gone as well, likely with her, but, again, he was absent of his usual emotions. 

All he felt was hate. 

It was bitter, and heavy in his chest, and his hands shook with the effort of containing it as he got dressed. All of his attention was so focused on keeping his anger, his _fury,_ under control, that he hardly noticed the cold of the basement as he walked down the stairs, wrench in hand. If he had, it would not have deterred him. He had finally had enough. 

He unscrewed the chimney of the hot water heater, and left the pipe slightly askew. The fumes from there would be sucked up by the furnace, and distributed throughout the house through the vents. Carbon monoxide was a combustion gas. 

He straightened his shirt out and slipped Roxanne into his pocket, his loyal friend whose company he needed extra today. He turned on the gas stove to the highest flame, a pan full of beans on top, turned up the heat a bit to kick the furnace into gear, and left the house. He hated the cold, and snuggled further into his hood as he left the house. 

He was sitting quietly on a swingset blocks away by the time the explosion happened. He watched the plume of billowing smoke rise, able to hear the destruction from here. The house on the hill was no more, gone in a fiery blaze, and with it, the security tapes. Aaron McTague was no more. 

Spite began to swing, feeling lightened of his burden. When Mr. and Mrs. McTague returned home that night, they would find smouldering rubble, and apologetic, sympathetic police officers, who could do no more than apologise for their loss. 

What would they say? What would they do? Move on, he supposed, though he found that he didn’t quite care about the outcome for them. All that mattered was that he was free. He wondered if his grandmother's pearls survived the explosion. Well...he didn’t really care about that either. He didn't care, he didn’t care! They were all going to die one day and be greeted with eternal black nothingness, but until then, nothing mattered and Spite was free! Unburdened by the weight of all the suppressed anxiety and sadness and anger he’d spent his whole life accumulating, and ready to go out and start fresh! The house began to give in to what remained of the flames, and he laughed. 

It was a clear sound, genuine and actually _happy-_ but it was cut short. A familiar figure in blue swooped by, heading straight for the wreckage on the hill, sirens in the distance. 

No. _No!_

The house had to burn down! All of it had to be gone! Every last piece of that wretched house of fucking misery had to die! He choked on the laughter caught in his throat, before the sound quickly escalated into a scream, wordless and guttural and desperate as Spite jumped to his feet, running after Musicboi and fighting to find a way to stop him. He jumped over a fence, grabbing a light pole on the way and using it to further his momentum and jump onto a car, and then roof of the garage it was parked beside. He ran along the rooftops, the cold air stinging his cheeks and throat, until he was slightly ahead of Musicboi. Then he jumped onto a high fence, ran back towards him, and jumped. 

Surprisingly, he hit the ground first, rolling through the snow as their momentum carried them further, before coming to a halt at the base of a tree in someone’s yard. He wheezed, slightly winded from the impact, and had to fight to sit up, head spinning. 

“Spite!” Musicboi was shouting, and Spite only found room in him to scowl. “I don’t have time for this, I have to help!” 

“It’s too late-” Spite coughed, holding the folded part of his hood, below his chin, over his mouth to keep from taking another breath of the cold air. It burned, and it felt like he was breathing through a throat full of rocks. “Gas explosion, it’s-” He coughed again, wincing in pain. “You can’t help, Musie.” 

“A gas explosion?” Musicboi looked worried suddenly, and Spite frowned. “I have to try, Spite. I know I’m not the best equipped to help, but- I can’t do _nothing.”_

“You can and you should.” Spite said evenly, lowering his scarf from his mouth now that he could feel his throat again. “They deserve it.” He realised it was likely the wrong thing to say _as he was saying it,_ but it was too late now. 

Musicboi stared at him in shock for a few seconds, though it felt more like an eternity to Spite, before anger took over his expression. _“You did this?!_ Spite, what the fuck! Who did you- you killed someone?!” He pointed a gloved finger at him and Spite leaned away to keep it from touching him. 

“No!” He said quickly, before Musicboi could work himself up too bad, and pushed his hand away. “No one is dead! I just- I had my reasons!” 

“For destroying someone’s _house?!”_

“Yes!” 

A firetruck rushed by, sirens blaring, followed by an ambulance and several police cruisers. They sped up the hill the remaining blocks, lights flashing blindingly even in the crisp morning light. 

When Musicboi turned back around, Spite was gone. 

\-------------------- 

_**GAS EXPLOSION DESTROYS HOUSE, CLAIMS ONE LIFE**  
_

Residents in the west neighborhood woke to sirens and smoke around 6am Friday morning, as the McTague household, home to a family of three, exploded and smoldered in the early morning. 

The owners, Mr. and Mrs. James and Janet McTague, were out on a business trip, leaving their seventeen-year old, Aaron McTague, to watch the house. He’d done so before without incident, sources say, and though no remains have been recovered, the now missing son of the McTagues is presumed dead. “He was such a quiet boy,” neighbors say. “He rarely left the house. [I] can’t think of anywhere else he would be at this hour.” 

Authorities confirm that the explosion was a tragic accident. “Our hearts go out to the family,” county Sheriff Jack Sanderson says. “The unimaginable has just happened in our own community, and we offer our sincerest condolences.” 

The Saturday explosion was speculated to have been caused by a gas leak in the basement. Residents are urged to perform routine checks, or call a plumber to do so, to ensure safety, and never leave the stove unattended. 

\-------------------- 

Ken put down the newspaper, staring at the printed color photo of the smoking remains of the house on the hill. He was devastated. Aaron. Quiet, timid Aaron, with bright red hair and dark, curious eyes. Gone. It must’ve been awful. He couldn’t possibly imagine...the heat, the smoke, the endless pain, the choking sensation as smoke filled your lungs and eyes. 

He looked up, the bakery brightly lit with the sunshine of an unfairly warm winter day, and tried to push the terrible thoughts and images from his mind, as he headed into the back to grab a glass of ice water. He wondered if...with a gas explosion like that...hopefully...it was quick. He swallowed the rising lump in his throat and returned to work, trying not to think about the cherry empanadas in the warmer. 

\-------------------- 

_“Spite!”_

The redhead jumped, his newspaper falling into his lap. “Captain Spook?” He looked over, frowning as the spectre stepped into the room. “Um? Hi?” He waved a little as he watched the light from his fire flicker around her. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

She cracked her knuckles, glaring at him. “Oh, I think you know already.” 

Spite got up, setting the newspaper aside, and brushed himself off. “Well, I mean kinda? I know you’re trying to be dramatic, but I’m going to need details.” Actually, he knew exactly why Captain Spook was here. And despite all their playful banter and sarcastic comebacks, she was genuinely intimidating. He needed a moment to figure out how he was going to talk his way out of this before he got overwhelmed and arrested. 

“You just want me to say it, is that it? Wanna hear it from someone other than the news? You’re disgusting.” She snarled at him, and he actually stepped away. 

“H-hey now-” 

“Hold on, Captain.” 

Spite jumped again, turning around to see Musicboi letting himself into the abandoned house. The December night air that was let in shook his bones, and Spite reached up for his scarf, only to remember that he was in costume, and only had his hood. 

“A surprise visit? For me? How nice. Consider me surprised! Y-you can go now.” 

“I’m not here to fight.” Musicboi said carefully, and in the orange light, Spite saw tears shine in his eyes. “I just...” he took a shaky breath. “I don’t want to fight, I just need answers.” Spite held his breath, and the hero continued. “Why did you blow up that house?” 

Spite scrunched up his nose. “Is that all?” 

“You lied to me! You said you didn’t kill anyone!” Musicboi’s voice cracked as he rose it, and Spite scowled. “Look at what you did! You killed that boy, and hurt his family!” 

“DON’T-” Spite bit down on his tongue, squeezing his eyes shut. “Don’t talk about his family. You don’t know anything. He’s better off now.” 

“Better- better off?! _Better off dead?!”_ Musicboi took another step closer, tears falling down his cheeks. “What is wrong with you?! How could you think that?!” 

“You didn’t know him! He was miserable! He was just as dead on the inside as he is now!” Spite shouted. 

“I could have saved him if you hadn't stopped me!" Musicboi clenched his hands into tight fists. "He was my friend!” 

_“I DIDN'T HAVE FRIENDS!”_

Musicboi and Spite stared for a moment, the taller of the two now crying himself. 

He looked away. “I’m...I never had any friends. Only one person ever really cared about me that wasn’t family...and he...we rarely spoke.” He cracked a smile. “He used to...he’d have my order ready for me when I came in, because he knew I was too nervous to order for myself.” He sniffed, lowering his head and wiping his eyes. 

“...Aaron?” 

“Don’t call me that.” Spite said softly, the tears he’d just wiped away being quickly replaced by more, rolling down his cheeks and falling from his chin. “I-I’m happier now. Please. Just...go.” 

A hand landed on his shoulder, and he looked up into Musicboi’s face. 

“Spite...are you really happier? You can’t go back to being Aaron. You can’t go to school, or back to your family....” 

Spite looked down, snaking his arms around his waist. “Th-they won’t miss me.” He whispered, his voice breaking. Musicboi didn’t say anything, and neither did Captain Spook, both of whom joined him beside the fire. He hid his face in his arm as he started to cry, sobbing in the quiet of the night. 

**Author's Note:**

> tumblrs?
> 
> (spite) artlesscomedic  
> (musicboi) nzprincesskenny


End file.
